by Blake Pierce
“I think they’d actually invite it,” Moon said. “With what Alfred and Abby experienced in their deaths, these are people who feel that the victims are being targeted because of their fears. It’s quite personal to them.”
At that comment, a man with a scraggly beard entered the room. Moon welcomed him warmly and when she introduced them, she was very careful not to provide the man’s name. Avery got it; in her profession, confidentiality was very important. Avery let it go. She didn’t think she’d need names unless someone was able to provide something really concrete.
His arrival broke up the conversation. Within a few minutes, another person entered the room, an overweight woman of about sixty. Again, Moon made introductions without giving the attendee’s name. She did make it clear, however, that Avery and Kellaway were here from the Boston PD Homicide Division, trying to find the person who had killed Alfred, Abby, and, most recently, Janice. No one had heard the news of Janice yet and two of the people that filed in as noon approached seemed to take the news like a punch to the gut.
By 12:02, there were seven attendees in the room. They had grabbed their cups of coffee and their plates of snacks and sat in the semicircle of metal folding chairs Moon had set up prior to their arrival. Three of the attendees did not seem all that thrilled that there were outsiders present. They’d said nothing during introductions and Avery could read in their body language—crossed arms and all but pinned to the backs of their chairs—that they would be no help. One of these three had been thoroughly devastated by the news of Janice’s murder.
Delores Moon was unfazed, though. She stood in the center of the semicircle like a teacher in front of her class. And the seven attendees all looked up to her with reverence and hope.
“Today is going to be different,” Moon said. “I’ve introduced you to our guests. And I know that we have all felt the losses of our three friends. We may not have known them all very well, but they shared a heartache that you all have in common. We’ve discussed this and know the importance of it. So today, I want those of you that are confident and self-assured to help our guests—Detective Black and Officer Kellaway—to understand the nature of what you go through on a daily basis. How do your fears affect your lives? What would you tell someone off the street what it’s like? How would you describe your fears and their effects on your life?
“The hope is that they can use your descriptions to better understand the mindset of someone who preys on people with genuine fears. So please don’t hold back. So many of you have been admirable in how open and vulnerable you’ve been. Please…help these courageous women to bring this horrid killer to justice.”
There was less than two seconds of silence before someone spoke up. It was the bearded man who had been the first to arrive. When he spoke, all eyes turned in his direction. Some in attendance looked frightened at what he might say. Others looked at him with awe and a bit of jealousy.
“Hell, I don’t mind,” he said. “The clinical word for my fear is thanatophobia—the fear of dying. And not just the act of dying, of one day just not being alive anymore. It’s thinking that just about anything could kill me. The cab ride over here. The cold I had two weeks ago. Falling off the treadmill at the gym. The elevator in my building breaking and crashing down five floors. I live with these fears every day. But not just like these small, passing fears. I avoid the elevator at all costs, even when I have a ton of groceries to go up to my apartment. Whenever I get sick, it feels one hundred times worse because I think everything can kill me. Even right now, I’m very aware of the guns on your hips and I’m wondering how they might accidentally go off by themselves. Logically, I know they can’t. But I’m still basically terrified that you’re in this room.”
Almost right away, another attendee spoke up. This was a younger woman—probably younger than thirty. She was squirming in her seat, clearly anxious.
“Everything he said…but with fire. I’m terrified of fire. I have never once in my life enjoyed a hot bath because I think the intense heat could somehow ignite something in the bathroom. I avoid any sort of hair accessories for the same reason—hair dryers, curling irons, you name it. I shit you not…everything in my apartment is flame proof. I have one of those convection stoves where everything is heated by magnets—a convection oven—because the thought of a burner on a stove makes me puke. And I meant that literally—I’ve actually thrown up at my family’s Thanksgiving dinner because of the burners on the stove and the candles lit on the dining room table.”
Avery admired the courage it took for these people to be so open and honest with what they perceived as serious flaws. She had her own baggage and knew what it was like to try to air it out for others. Still, as she listened, she was in detective mode; she was looking for anyone who stood out more than the others. Maybe someone who looked almost unbearably uncomfortable because there were police in attendance. Perhaps an attendee who shifted in an anxious way when the murders of their former group members came up.
But Avery could spot nothing of the sort.
“Let me ask you,” Avery said, addressing the room. “Is there anyone other than Janice that is usually here that is not here today?”
“None of the regulars from what I can see,” Moon said.
“Yeah, if you don’t count the dropouts,” one of the men who had remained silent to this point said.
“Dropouts?” Kellaway asked.
“A few people try us out and find out that we go deep quickly,” said the woman who was afraid of fire. “The most recent one was a guy named—”
“No names, please,” Moon said, clearly a little annoyed.
“Well, he had what I thought was a made up fear—a fear of being afraid. The idea of being scared…well, it scared him. But at the same time, he thought our phobias were stupid.”
“Yes,” Moon said, “yet for the sake of confidentiality, we can’t discuss such things because that person is not here.”
“I understand that,” Avery said, “but if this is someone who was here for a few weeks and then left without much notice—especially in the last few weeks—it could be very important to the case. At the very least, it could provide a lead.”
Moon looked around at the assembled group as if she were disappointed. She then focused on Avery and Kellaway. “Can I have a private word with you out in the hall?”
Without waiting for an answer, Moon walked to the door and out of the room. Avery and Kellaway followed. Avery was very aware of slight murmuring behind them as the group snickered. She even heard someone say “Ah hell, looks like they’re in trouble…”
Outside of the room, Moon stepped away from the doorway so as to not be overheard by the group’s prying ears.
“We have people come for a few weeks and never come back,” she said. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“But the lady that is scared of fire seems to have been quite upset about this latest guy.”
“Yes, and she has reason to. He name-called and antagonized everyone. I had a talk with him after the second week and told him if he didn’t stop, he would no longer be welcomed back.”
“And did he come back?” Avery asked.
“He did. And when he did, he came with a lighter. He flicked the flame open directly in front of her face. There was an altercation and I asked him to leave. He did, but he was back the following week. I threatened to call the police and he left willingly enough. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“I understand that with what you do here, you hold confidentiality above everything else,” Avery said. “But someone that behaved like that in this environment right around the time these murders started…it has to be checked out.”
Moon nodded, but solemnly. She agreed but was not happy about it. “He had what is known as phobophobia—the fear of being afraid. And from the brief time I spent with him, it was clear that he believes that in order to get over his fear, he must create fear to desensitize himself. Creating it for others mostly, but also p
utting himself in fearful situations from time to time.”
“Ms. Moon…clearly you see how someone like that would be a suspect,” Avery pushed.
“All I have is a name and a phone number,” Moon said, admitting defeat. “That’s all he put on his form…and I’m pretty sure the phone number is a fake.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Avery said. “The name is all we need.”
With a sigh, Moon gave them a name and then, without another word, she turned away and headed back into the room. The look on her face as she turned away was one of sadness; she felt as if she had betrayed someone’s confidence.
Avery was fine with betraying confidence, honestly. She was more worried about saving lives…and if a few people had to be exposed along the way, then so be it.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The man’s name was Dan Hudson. A quick call to the A1 supplied them with his address—which turned out to be just fifteen minutes away from the community center. When Avery parked the car in front of his house, which was tucked in between two other nearly identical houses in the cheaper end of a middle-class subdivision, it was clear that he was home. Loud music was coming from inside and they could see someone walking back and forth in front of the window that looked in onto the living room. The blinds were drawn but the shape moving back and forth was easily seen.
As they got out of the car and headed for the front door, Avery was rather surprised to realize that she knew the music that was being played. It was a band Rose had been into once upon a time, some German rock outfit called Rammstein. This realization made her grin and it also turned her mind back to Rose. If she had the time, she’d go back to the hospital tonight to check in on her, no matter what the end result of this visit to Dan Hudson might be.
Avery stood back a few steps while Kellaway knocked on the door. She knocked loudly so she could be heard over the music. After a few moments the music came to an end and they could hear heavy footfalls coming to the door. When the door was finally opened, it only opened partially. With about six inches of open space, a man peeked out.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Avery showed her badge, as did Kellaway, although Kellaway’s standard police uniform made it a redundant gesture. “I’m Detective Black, with Boston PD Homicide,” Avery said. “We’re looking for Dan Hudson. Is that you?”
“It is. Was my music too loud or something?”
“Honestly, yes. But that’s not why we’re here. I wonder if we might come in and ask you a few questions?”
Dan eyed them suspiciously with his one eye that peered through the crack in the door. “What’s it about?” he asked and with that, Avery could hear the first signs of fear in his voice.
“We want to ask you some questions about the support group you had been attending over the last few weeks,” Avery said.
“Seriously?” he said, opening the door a bit wider. “Did Delores end up calling the police anyway?”
“She didn’t, actually,” Avery said. “We ended up visiting her for a different matter.”
This seemed to ease Dan’s mind a bit and he finally opened the door the rest of the way. It was still clear that he was very uncomfortable, though. “Come on in,” he said.
When they stepped inside, Avery found the house in nearly immaculate—albeit bland—shape. There were no pictures on the walls, no lamps, no decorations. She wondered if this had to do with his fear. Perhaps the fewer items in his house, the less afraid he was.
“So what do you need to know?” Dan asked. “If you ask me, they were the biggest bunch of crybabies I’d ever seen. Scared of everything.”
“And why were you there?” Kellaway asked.
“Phobophobia. Scared that I might get scared. It’s not like a permanent thing. It comes and goes but when it’s here, it hits hard. I was looking for help with it and ironically, seeing how those people freak out about weird stuff…well, it sort of made me feel better.”
He had led them into his living room. There was no TV, only one armchair and an old couch. The old-model stereo that had been blasting the music moments ago sat in the floor, the cords neatly tucked away behind the speakers.
“How many weeks did you attend the support group?” Avery asked.
“Three weeks. I was asked to leave on the fourth week.”
“And when was that?”
“Two weeks ago, I suppose.”
“And other than finding comfort in the fears of others, did the group help you?” Avery asked.
“Look, it wasn’t like I was mocking them.”
“From what I hear, you waved a lighter in the face of a woman who has a legitimate fear of fire. That seems like mocking. It actually seems rather aggressive.”
“I thought I was helping. With me, exposure to fear seems to make the phobia weaken. It loosens its grip on me.”
There was another whole line of questioning behind this thought, and Avery knew that it would lead down a rabbit trail. So, trying to stick to the most basic and informative line of questioning, she asked: “During your time with the group, did you get to know Alfred Lawnbrook, Abby Costello, or Janice Saunders?”
Dan nodded his head as he plopped down in the armchair. “Yeah. I met all of them. Alfred was actually pretty cool. I mean…who the hell isn’t scared of spiders? But Abby…her thing was water, right? I mean…what the hell? How do you take a bath?”
“Would you say you identified with Alfred because the idea of spiders scared you? And if they scare you, then that represents your phobia, right?”
“No, I didn’t identify with him. There was one week where he and I went out and had a beer after the group. But we weren’t friends or anything like that.”
“And what were your thoughts on Janice Saunders?”
“I didn’t realty know her that well. I don’t even know if she ever revealed to the group what it was she was afraid of. Not while I was there anyway.”
“And what about you?” Avery asked. “Do you recall a moment in your life when you first became aware of your fears?”
He shook his head and, unless she was imagining it, Avery was pretty sure there was a flicker of fear that came over his face. When he looked to her, she still saw it. For some reason, directing the conversation back to his own fears was setting him off.
“I don’t know. Started when I was a kid I guess. But no…there was never any one moment.”
“You seemed a little frightened for a while when you answered the door,” Kellaway said. “Was that because you thought Delores Moon might have decided to call the cops on you after all?”
“No,” he said. “I’m always like that.” He seemed even more anxious now, squirming slightly in his chair. It was almost like watching him morph into something else—like watching a man start the transition into becoming a werewolf.
“Like what?” Avery asked.
“A knock on the door. A telephone call. You never know who it is, you know? You never know why they might be there. This world sucks, you know? People can be mean for no reason.”
“So the uncertainty of a knock on the door scares you?”
Dan frowned and nodded. He seemed to be trying to push himself back into the armchair, visibly uncomfortable now.
“I…I need to ask you to leave now,” he said. “It’s coming again and it’s not good. It’s never good…”
“What’s coming?” Avery asked.
“I shouldn’t have let you in. I knew it was a bad idea and…”
“Dan, it’s okay,” Avery said, lowering her voice and trying to stay as consistent and non-threatening as she could. “We just need to know if—”
“Are you afraid of anything, Detective?” he asked, leering at Avery. She saw where he was beginning to sweat and for the first time, Avery started to grow nervous. She was nowhere near a psychiatrist and she was afraid she might have pushed Dan a little too far without knowing it.
“I am,” she said.
“What is it?”
Losi
ng my daughter, she thought but kept it to herself.
He smiled nervously at her. “See…not so fun to talk about what scares you, is it? I don’t know what you want, but please…leave.”
“Mr. Hudson,” Avery said. “We can not only help you with what you’re going through with your fear, but you might even be able to help us find a killer.”
“A killer?” he said, stark terror now entering his voice. He said it as if the killer might very well be hiding somewhere in his house. Avery saw something like lunacy in his eyes and was pretty sure she had inadvertently pushed him over some sort of line.
That’s when she saw why he had been squirming so much. He hadn’t only been pushing himself into the chair as a way to symbolically retreat from the conversation; his hand had been reaching for something.
With a catlike reflex, Dan came up with a handgun. All Avery saw was a flash of black, moving upward. Dan screamed as he brought it up.
Then Avery saw another flash. It was Kellaway, launching herself forward. She collided with Dan and the chair at just about the same moment Dan pulled the trigger. Avery’s hand went for her Glock but it was impulse only. As she hit the ground for cover, she was fairly certain she heard the whir of Dan’s shot go sailing by her head, missing her by no less than two inches.
From the floor, Avery watched as the armchair, Kellaway, and Dan Hudson all went rocking back to the floor. Dan cried out in absolute horror, his feet kicking in the air while Kellaway expertly wrapped herself around him, applying a rear-naked choke.
Avery got to her feet and went to assist. She felt adrenaline thrumming through her body, her nerves electric. I almost just died, she thought. And I should have seen him going for that gun. I missed it…and he almost killed me as a result.
Together, Avery and Kellaway cuffed Dan and got him to his feet. He was crying a series of apologies as they led him out of his house.
“Thank you,” Avery whispered to Kellaway after they had secured Dan in the back of the car.
“Of course,” Kellaway said. “No problem.”
“No…really. Kellaway, you saved my life back there.”
